The Klittens – The Gig That Was A Washout

I had a gig on last night. I was meant to be seeing the Dutch band, THe Klittens, last night at Broadcast at the top end (or bottom end, depending on your perspective) of Sauchiehall Street – the M8 end, near Charing Cross/St George’s Cross subway stations. That end of it. 

As what happened on Friday night when I set out to make my way to see Nation Of Language, the heavens decided to open. Unlike on Friday when, for most of the day the weather had been fine and sunny, yesterday it was continually overcast and looking like it was about to “pish doon” at any given minute. It was forecast that the rain was due during the afternoon! Thunderstorms and rain, due to be fining up by late afternoon/early evening. 

I had been in two minds as to whether I should go all day. I just wasn’t feeling the vibe, you know? But…I tried to get myself out of it and thought I’d just go and if the band was crap or the atmosphere was not to my liking I’d just leave early and come home. Nothing much lost. The return ticket for a super off-peak train to/from Queen Street is just £1.60, so I decided to just head on in. 

I decided on getting the 6.16pm train as that would give me enough time to arrive in the city and walk down Sauchiehall Street for doors opening at Broadcast at 7pm. The forecast changed during the afternoon and it was showing rain showers until 7pm. I thought that maybe I’d need to shelter at Queen Street for a bit possibly, but I could probably still make my way along taking refuge under shop doorways and awnings, etc, until I made it to the venue. 

Best laid plans! Well…that was the theory. The reality was that by the time I got to Queen Street the rain was steadily falling. I had no umbrella. I didn’t want to take one and then be refused entry to the venue for having a bloody umbrella and risk having to surrender it and then forget it later – so I decided not to bother. Anyway, the forecast said the rain would clear off by 7pm. WRONG! So, with rain steadily falling after being at Queen St for 5 mins, I decided to start making my way to Sauchiehall Street. I walked down Dundas Lane and by the time I hit Buchanan Street the trainer on my right foot had hit a puddle and my foot was soaked. Fuck it! 

The rain got heavier, so I took refuge under the Vans shop front. It’s only a small door ledge and the rain was getting heavier still. If I stayed there, I’d get wet pretty soon. I shot across the street and got under cover outside Victoria’s Secrets – a much more substantial point of protection from the elements. It was 6.40pm. The rain came like a torrent a few minutes later. At 7.20pm it was still chucking it down and I was still standing by the doors of Victoria’s Secret. I’d had conversations with a young girl who’d travelled in earlier in the day from Argyll and was needing to get a taxi to get to her hotel; a European lady or perhaps Spanish or Italian persuasion wanting to get to her hotel – she was here for her son’s graduation from Strathclyde Uni and the odd other person just wanting a few minutes respite from having got completely drowned walking in it. 

It pissed and pissed. Around 7.20pm I decided I needed to try and start making my way up to the venue. I left the refuge of Vic’s Secrets and immediately rued my decision. While still standing there I started to think whether it was best to just knock the whole idea on the head and just head straight back home. Well…after trying to continue on up Buchanan Street and getting as far as the top of the Sainsbury’s on the corner of Bath St and taking in the time knowing a train back to Ashfield would be leaving in several minutes and me feet now saturated from the flood of rain water cascading down Buchanan Street and not really relishing the idea of being in sodden trainers for several more hours, I decided to just head back to Queen Street station and go home. It was STILL raining heavily. Just within that short walk, I was soaked through. I’d have never made it to Broadcast without being completely sodden.

I tried. Maybe had I’d done what I thought about doing earlier in the day and have taken the 75 bus in, as I’d only had to walk from Cambridge Street down to get to Broadcast – but the bus is ssooo much more expensive than the train and I don’t much fancy waiting around Hope Street for the bus home. Half the time they never come when they’re due. It was the of £3 for a single bus ticket opposed to £1.60 for a return train ticket. I might have made it to the venue though. 

Even when I got back to Ashfield the rain was still falling, and continued to fall until well after 9pm. So, instead of their being a review of The Klittens, today is a lament upon last night’s biblical deluge. Glasgow needed the rain but fuck the timing! I guess The Klittens just weren’t meant to be this time. Perhaps I can catch them next time they come to Glasgow? 

Here’s hoping there’ll be better weather for my next gig, which is Restricted Code at McChuills on July 1st. 

P.S. It was a year and a day to the anniversary of Simple Minds playing Blenheim Palace and I had decided to wear my – what I am starting to think is my cursed (Kerrsed!) Act Of Love t-shirt and my little compact green Radley phone bag – to the gig last night. It brought on the deluge!